


Born For This

by iamfitzwilliamdarcy



Category: Daredevil (TV), Gotham (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 10:20:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4301034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamfitzwilliamdarcy/pseuds/iamfitzwilliamdarcy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce makes a friend while lost New York; he and Matt just understand each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Born For This

It was Alfred’s idea, to go to New York, get him out of Gotham, under the guise of some Wayne Enterprises business. “You can sit in on some of the meetings,” he’d said. Bruce knew it was just a ploy to distract him from his parents’ death, at least for a little bit, but he played along. He wanted to see New York. He wished Selina were here to explore it with him.

That was probably something else Alfred was trying to distract him from.

But anyway, the point stood: exploring the city was much less fun on one’s own, and Bruce had slipped away from Alfred ages ago (or rather, Alfred had let him slip away, but Bruce chose to pretend otherwise). And Bruce wasn’t sure he liked New York as much as Gotham anyway. Alfred thought Bruce needed to see more of the world; Bruce was happy to stay home, for now.

Since he had to be in New York, though, he might as well enjoy it. And he had been, a bit, (when he ignored the loneliness that ached in his chest, his only friend these days, it seemed), until he realized he was lost. The buildings had changed, gradually, becoming dumpier, dirtier, more unkempt. It was grayer too, drabby and almost dreary except that the sun still shone bright, even here. Even the people had thinned out.

This is what Bruce got for wandering without paying attention. He came to a complete stop in the middle of the cracked sidewalk and turned around, thinking he might go back. But no, nothing was familiar that way. Had he even turned recently? Stupid, stupid, stupid. He turned back around, but didn’t move again, deciding what to do next.

Several long, drawn out moments of indecision later, a voice interrupted. “Are you going to stand there all day?”

Bruce jumped, startled, and turned to his left where another boy, about his age, was siting on the steps of church. It was still run-down, but looked nicer than most of the other buildings, like someone cared about it. The boy himself looked a bit run down, wearing an oversized shirt tucked into oversized jeans. He wore glasses—blind, Bruce thought, and filed away that thought for later.

“Only until I find a better solution,” Bruce said.

The boy smiled and came down the steps. “Well you look suspicious.”

Bruce huffed out a breath, insulted. “I’m not suspicious. I’m just…I’ve lost my way.”

“Don’t say that too loudly,” the boy added. “Makes you look like an easy target. I’m Matt, by the way.” The kid held out his hand in Bruce’s direction and waited until Bruce found it to shake.

“Bruce,” he said. It was on the tip of his tongue to add Wayne, but he thought better of it. Even here, that name carried weight (he thought). “And um--,” he lowered his voice, “So where are we?”

“In Hell’s Kitchen. Right in front of St. Agnes’ Catholic Church.”  
Bruce frowned at the church. “Do you live there?”

Matt shrugged. “Sort of. I live with the nuns. Long story,” he added, waving off the question of why. “Do you want to get ice cream? I know a place not too far.”

There’s something about Matt that felt familiar to Bruce, connected them. And besides, Bruce could use a friend. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had ice cream either (actually, he could; Detective Gordon had brought him some when he was in the hospital but he’d only taken a bite of it so the detective wouldn’t be disappointed). So he said, “Sure,” and Matt grinned.

“Come on then,” he said and led the way down the cracked sidewalk.

“Where are you from anyway?” Matt asked on the way.

“Gotham,” Bruce said.

“I went there once!” Matt said, lighting up. “Back before—when I could still see.” He trailed off a little awkwardly, deflating, then added, voice quieter, “With my dad. He hated it.”

Bruce wrinkled his nose. He wanted to ask what before meant, what had happened to blind Matt, where his dad was and if he also lived with the nuns or if Matt was there on his own. But it didn’t seem appropriate for the “I literally met you five minutes ago” stage of their friendship, so he said instead, “Why’d he hate it?”

Matt shrugged. “New York was the only city for him, he said. It was his h--”

“Home,” Bruce finished, thinking about his own feelings towards New York. “What’d he do?”

“He was a boxer.”

Halfway through the thought of saying “My butler’s teaching me to box,” Bruce realized it probably wasn’t polite to talk about the fact that he had a butler, and though he’d noticed Matt’s use of past tense when talking about his dad (plus the whole living with nuns thing), Bruce wasn’t sure he wanted to broach the topic of guardianship. He stumbled over his words, but managed to say, “I’m learning boxing. From a friend.” His only friend, really, except for Selina, and Bruce wasn’t really sure she counted anymore.

“We’re turning left up here,” Matt said. Then he added, “My dad wouldn’t teach me to box. He didn’t want me to fight.”

“Mine didn’t either,” Bruce said. “But you know, shit happens.” The cuss sounded wrong, coming form him; he’d picked it up from Selina, but had never been comfortable using it.

It made Matt laugh though.

“What?” Bruce asked defensively. 

“You sound like you’ve never cursed a day in your life,” Matt said. “I bet you go to some nice school too and wear a uniform.”

Bruce made a face at him and, after a moment, remembered he couldn’t see it, so he said, “I don’t see how that could possible determine a person’s ability to use cuss words.”

“So you do. Turn right here and then we’re crossing the street.”

“Well, I don’t like it,” Bruce said. It was a sort of confession; he’d made it pretty clear to Alfred how he felt about school. “But Alfred makes me go.”

They stopped as they approached the street. It wasn’t busy, just a lone car that sped up through the yellow light.

“It’s clear now,” Bruce said, leaning forward and checking both ways again.

They crossed together and it wasn’t after they ordered ice cream that Matt ventured, “Who’s Alfred? Your friend?”

“Yeah.” Bruce shoved a spoonful of vanilla ice cream into his mouth (Matt had called him boring when he ordered). “My guardian,” he added, after he’d swallowed.

“Oh.” Matt looked thoughtful, like he was deciding something. Then, he leaned forward, face serious, ice cream cone forgotten in his hand, and said, voice soft, like he was confessing something, “My dad was murdered.”

And there it was, that connection Bruce had felt. There was a deep grief there, like the one Bruce had been carrying inside him for months now. “Mine too,” he offered back. “And my mom. They were shot, in an alley. I was there.”

“Did they catch the guy who did it?” Matt asked.

“No,” Bruce said. “They tried, but they haven’t found him yet. They thought they did, once, but it was the wrong person.”

“They didn’t even try with my dad,” Matt said; it was bitter and angry in a way Bruce also identified with, in the days when he was sure no one was paying attention, no one was trying hard enough, no one cared. But at least GCPD had tried. “It’s not fair.”

“It has to change,” Bruce agreed, leaning forward, suddenly eager. He was thinking about his parents and Selina and the other kids who’d been taken shortly after his parents had died; he was thinking of Reggie and the corrupt members of Wayne Industries. “I—I’m going to make it change, one day.”

He’d never confessed that secret idea brewing inside him, not even to Alfred, but he felt like Matt would understand. He was still a bit startled, though, when Matt’s face turned stony and he said, “Me too.”

Bruce didn’t know what to say after that, but he felt giddy, a mixture of nerves that he’d ever said what he had and gladness that someone understood. After a moment of silence though, he said, “Your ice cream is melting.”

“Your situational awareness is improving,” Matt said. “Hand me a napkin.”

Bruce wondered where he’d picked up a phrase like “situational awareness,” but didn’t comment on it; he just did as he was asked, and Matt wrapped the napkin carefully around his cone. 

They finished their ice cream and wandered around for a bit. Matt took him to a nearby park and almost pushed Bruce into the pond when he made a bad joke. They were both laugh, though, and it wasn’t until the sun started to set that Bruce realized Alfred must be worried about him by now.

“I should go back,” Bruce said.

“Yeah, me too,” Matt agreed. “Do you know how to get back?”

“No,” Bruce admitted. “I could just call a cab, though.”

Matt shook his head. “Come back with me. Alfred can pick you up there. Sr. Maria won’t mind.”

“Alright,” Bruce said, and Matt grinned.

“Good,” he said. “I want to meet Alfred.”

They went off together, Matt’s hand on the crook of Bruce’s arm, and when they said good-bye (one angry lecture from Alfred that didn’t quite conceal how pleased he was that Bruce had made a friend his own age later), Matt gave Bruce a hug and said, softly into Bruce’s ear so that Sr. Maria and Alfred wouldn’t hear, “St. Joan of Arc said once, when she was going to war for God, ‘I am not afraid, I was born to do this.’ ‘The soldiers will fight,’ she said, ‘and God will give the victory.’ We’re born for this, Bruce, and we’ll fight and we’ll find victory and justice one day. Don’t forget that.”

Bruce hugged him back, a bit awkwardly. “I won’t,” he said, but before he could say anything more, Matt had pulled away and Alfred was ushering Bruce out of the door. The first thing he did when he returned to Gotham was look up St. Joan of Arc.

Bruce wasn’t religious; his parents, Episcopalians, had only taken him to church on Christmas and Easter. But he never forgot Matt’s words, and he didn’t feel so dumb when, years later, he said a quick prayer to St. Joan of Arc the night he first put on a costume and stepped out as the Batman. He wasn’t afraid. After all, he was made for this. 

And when a few years later, he heard about the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, well, he wasn’t surprised. Matt had been born for it too.

**Author's Note:**

> I fought with this a lot but I wanted these sad babies to meet so I hope it turned out like semi-decent; these two are HARD TO WRITE


End file.
